


Maybe You Still Think Of Us

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: City Slums Au, Drinking, Emotion Dump, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:36:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tooru’s hair, smelled not like booze or blood or cigarette smoke.It smelled like the fresh morning glories in front of Hajime’s old house. When he was young.Morning glories…They clung to each other. They are each other’s lifelines.





	Maybe You Still Think Of Us

**Author's Note:**

> [Pork Soda](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78DVtcsT26k) by Glass Animals
> 
> This may not be all the way edited. (cough i wrote it in like and hour cough cough) When I listen to Glass Animals music, I get really inspired to write. I tried a new-ish writing style. If you could tell me what you think after reading, that would be wonderful. I'm always looking to improve, so don't hesitate to leave a comment!

Hajime first met him in the bar, a cigarette in his mouth, cards in his hands. Boxes piled high sat in the center of the table. The door opened with a jingle and the whole room went dead quiet. 

A beautiful boy with honey-spun hair and such a look of pride on his face, flouncing his way through the bar like he’d been going for years, and he hadn’t stopped yet.

He came right over to Hajime, taking the cigarette right from his lips and threw it onto the ground. He stomped it out, and placed his finger just below Hajime’s chin.

“I think it’s high time you find a better way to kill yourself slowly, Mr. Suicide. Why don’t you come with me?” 

 

_Somewhere in South End when you were fun_

 

He took Hajime’s hands into his own and pulled him outside to nowhere, to everywhere. 

In the slums of the city, where feet are always dirty and the smell of smoke mixed with booze lingers everywhere you turn. 

An angel, carved from golden mirth and amusement, Oikawa Tooru took Iwaizumi Hajime by the hands and showed him his everything, from his pretty pale skin to his broken, shattered insides, roiling and ripping themselves apart, over and over. 

 

_You took my hand and you made me run_

 

Broken shards of bottles of everything, Tooru walked upon, scars on his feet, on his heart, a mosaic of pain he wore like a crown. 

Tooru took Hajime everywhere. The tops of buildings where the city lights shone bright, and the light caught in Tooru’s hair like a halo. 

To the seafront.

To the lapping water where moonlight prevailed.

Tooru kissed Hajime with the wet sand stuck between their toes. He kissed him softly and languidly, his tongue pressing against Hajime’s bottom lip. Hajime’s hands came up to Tooru’s hair, he grabbed it and tugged, all to hear the angelic noises that Tooru sang for him. Hajime’s fingers bumped over every single scar marking Tooru’s stomach and chest that night. 

Everywhere, empty bottles and broken jars. Broken glass, broken people, broken societies, and Hajime and Tooru forgot it all. Hajime touched Tooru everywhere, all over his broken body, and slowly, slowly unraveled him. The most gorgeous sight, when Tooru arched into Hajime and called his name, high and beautiful, his mouth fallen open into a perfect o. 

They kept going, going, until Hajime’s legs shook and Tooru had whined himself hoarse. Going, going, gone. Hajime slept to the steady beat of Tooru’s heart. 

The next morning he was gone, letters and notes spread across everywhere, tears and cracks left across Hajime’s heart. He ran, he looked, everywhere, and fell to his knees with sand stuck between his toes. 

Blood, on his hands, on his face, unable to wash off, unable to be freed from. 

This was what Tooru had to deal with. 

His glowing, enigmatic, honey-spun boy had left a trail of his own blood to follow. 

 

_Why can’t we laugh now like we did then?_  
_How come I see you and ache instead?_  
_How come you only look pleased in bed?_  
_Let's climb the cliff edge and jump again_

 

It was a lie? He lied. He played with Hajime’s heart, he played with his head, pulled his threads until nothing remained. 

All Hajime saw was through smoke, through colored feelings and thoughts, artificial and wrong. Fake, wrong. All of it’s wrong. 

Blood on his knuckles, broken pieces of glass. Everywhere. Everywhere. 

Bottles emptied themselves, faster and faster, and someone knocked on his door. Pulled his heartstrings until they fell apart. 

Back? He’s back. Hajime tugged his shirt, tugged him away, tugged him close, back to where they started. Back where they began, back with the sand between their toes. 

Tooru cried pretty tears, purple blossoming bruises staining his face, and Hajime fell again, even deeper, even more. Against the wall, Tooru melted, into Hajime, and Hajime kept him from slipping away. 

No more bottles left, and Tooru pushed Hajime to the floor. To the floor on a summer night, where the heat was unbearable, where the searing kisses Tooru marked him up with felt like hot magma poured over him, and he could never get enough, oh, never. 

 

_We drank pork soda with tangled legs  
I won’t forget how you looked at me then_

 

He woke up, he woke up and it was a dream, it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be such, Tooru was there, Tooru wasn’t there. The heat muddled Hajime’s mind to nothing, to a haze, unable to make anything out. So he left, and he ran. He ran farther than he’d ever run before.

They fought, Tooru yelled, he screamed, and Hajime told him to go, to get out. He never wanted to see Tooru again. He wanted to see Tooru all the time. The second the door shut, the sound rang in Hajime’s ears. Every sound was too loud, too quiet, and his stomach sloshed, full of liquid regret. 

The burn in his legs was welcome, from his dirty, bloody shack that he called home, to the cliff’s edge. Where Tooru jumped, and Hajime caught him without a second thought. 

Tooru, with his enormous pride and his need for the fresh air, brought him farther than Hajime will ever go. Farther than the sun, farther than every galaxy. 

Tooru walked across treetops, he took from those who didn’t need, he spoke what he thought, and he loved Hajime with his absolutely everything.

Building tops and sewer pipes and poor people and rich people all smelled the same with a stomach full of vodka; they all smelled like blood mixed with rotting meat, rotting love and rotting minds.

Tooru screamed at the top of his lungs, he let his feet dangle and become heavy lead weights.

His screams spoke of pain, riddled with it and full to the brim with it. _Will it reach him? Will it reach my love?_

 

_I know I'm no sweet prince of love  
Those times that we got drunk_

 

Hajime screamed loud, so the birds flew away and dogs barked and somebody called the police, but Hajime didn’t care. He didn’t care. He wanted, he needed Tooru to hear him.

 

_Why don't I say it then?  
I want you all the time_

 

And they both ran. They both ran until they couldn’t anymore and that’s where they found each other, and Tooru swung his fist at Hajime, and Tooru punched him in the gut, and Hajime let it happen, he couldn’t hurt Tooru any more than he was already hurting, so he took Tooru by the wrists, his skin so soft, so lovely. Hajime ached for him, wanted to kiss every inch of skin he could find.

He wanted to hear Tooru sing for him again.

 

_Let's climb the cliff edge and jump again_

 

Tooru screamed at him, and Tooru fell into him, his golden-chestnut curls bouncing as his head hit Hajime’s shoulder. He sobbed, his whole body shook with the effort. It was too much. Too much, but he still needed more. 

Hajme held him, held his skinny Tooru as he cried, as he poured out his apologies to Hajime. 

Tooru’s hair, smelled not like booze or blood or cigarette smoke. 

It smelled like the fresh morning glories in front of Hajime’s old house. When he was young. 

Morning glories…

They clung to each other. They are each other’s lifelines. 

But when sweet Tooru thought to lift his head up again, when Hajime thought to open his eyes once more-

 

they were only gazing into a mirror. 

 

_Pineapples are in my head  
got nobody ‘cos i’m braindead_

**Author's Note:**

> _"The morning glory has a number of meanings. The Chinese folklore of this flower symbolizes that lovers may only meet on one special day out of the year. The story behind this is that two young people fell deeply in love, neglecting all of their responsibilities."_   
>  _"The Victorian meaning of morning glory is either love or mortality or love in vain."_


End file.
